


Note from the Inquisitorial Archives #8

by professorplum221



Series: Notes from the Inquisitorial Archives [8]
Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Biting, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Space Marines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorplum221/pseuds/professorplum221
Summary: Unpublished excerpts from the memoirs of Commissar Ciaphas Cain regarding his time aboard the Space Marine strike cruiser Revenant
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Ciaphas Cain/Amberley Vail, Ciaphas Cain/Drumon
Series: Notes from the Inquisitorial Archives [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043088
Kudos: 8





	Note from the Inquisitorial Archives #8

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got my hands on books 7-10 of this series, so stay tuned for when I eventually fully catch up and have all of canon at my disposal. First up, something drawing on book 7! Note that pretty much everything I say in this about space marines is only about 25% actual lore I looked up, and 75% my own interpretation based on what I thought would be fun and interesting.

_ Archival note: From context, the events described in this particular excerpt appear to have taken place during Commissar Cain's attachment as liaison to the Reclaimers chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, shortly before their ill-advised boarding of the space hulk  _ Spawn of Damnation _. While it includes some annotations from Inquisitor Vail, it has never been previously published, once more for obvious reasons. _

_ \- Underscribe P. Plumb, 137.M42 _

One of the most amusing ironies of my career is that for every exaggerated or outright fabricated feat that's earned me my undeserved heroic reputation, there's at least one more real triumph that's never become public knowledge—whether due to the Inquisition's cover-ups, the personal details of the events making them inappropriate to brag about, or simply the fact that no one would ever believe me. The following tale falls into both the latter two categories, having previously been shared only with the select audience of Amberley and Jurgen—both of whom seemed to express some skepticism in their own ways, as Amberley especially tends to do about any adventures of mine she wasn't there to personally witness [1]. I suppose it's unlikely that anyone other than Amberley will ever read these attempted memoirs of mine anyway, so maybe this is all an exercise in futility that will only lead to her questioning the truth of my exploits further. But either way, now recorded for posterity, I present the entirely honest story of the time I successfully seduced a space marine.

This being before I met Amberley, it was certainly the most unique and interesting sexual experience I'd had to date at the time. Since then, she's certainly given it a lot of competition, but I'd venture to say that it might still rank among the top ten for sheer novelty [2]. The nights I had been increasingly reluctantly spending with the so-called colonel Mira DuPanya, however, had started to fall on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Her company had been a pleasant enough diversion when we first met on Viridia, but I had already been starting to find it suffocating even before she had made her excuses to follow me onto the  _ Revenant _ . And the more our regular encounters became dull reiterations of routine and obligation, the more I found my thoughts straying to someone else, with whom I had been sharing much happier and more unpredictable hours in the training chapel. So, spurred on by our arrival in the Serendipita system, which led me to believe that my assignment with the Reclaimers was coming to its end and my window of opportunity would soon be up, I mustered up the courage to take a shot at it.

"Drumon?" I looked up at him for acknowledgment in the middle of a break from one of our sparring sessions. Despite my exhaustion at the exercise, we were both still standing in the middle of the room, Drumon seeming just as averse as the rest of his kin to sitting down unless necessary, and I not wanting to make his massive height advantage any more pronounced than it already was. "May I ask you a very personal question?"

He inclined his head down toward me, a faint smile on his face. "You may."

"Do you, um, that is . . ." I fumbled for the words, finding it suddenly difficult to maintain eye contact. "Do any of the Astartes ever . . . seek out intimate personal relationships?"

Drumon's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes twinkling with what looked like mild amusement. "You mean to ask about the sex lives of space marines?"

"Well, I, ah, yes." I felt like I was shrinking under his gaze, extremely aware of the contrast between my shaky voice and his deep and dulcet tones. "I was . . . wondering. If you don't mind the impertinence of asking."

"Not at all," he assured me. "I'm given to believe it depends on the idiosyncrasies of the gene-seed. For some chapters, it may be a major part of their lives, just as it is for many normal humans. But as for myself and my battle-brothers in the Reclaimers, I've never known any of us to experience the same kind of sexual desire or attraction as average men. I'm not sure we would have the necessary functioning equipment to address it if we did."

"Ah. I see," I responded, doing my best to keep my disappointment from showing on my face.

Evidently, this didn't work very well, as the next words I heard in Drumon's resonant voice were, "You seem disappointed."

I began to splutter something incoherent in protest, fearful that I had offended him—but I fell silent when he bent down to bring his face level with mine. A moment later, he leaned in and surprised me with a soft kiss.

"You're not asking the right question," he told me, his breath a gentle breeze against my no doubt extremely flushed face.

"What's that?" I murmured in response, still somewhat stunned.

"Ask me directly about whatever it is you'd like me to do for you," he explained. "I'd be happy to provide you with whatever satisfaction I can. I may not feel the same drive for it, but that doesn't mean it can't be nice."

My eyes widened, and I took another moment to search for some measure of composure. "Well," I finally managed to say, "If you're sure you wouldn't  _ mind _ . . ."

* * *

I was almost surprised when, after leading me down an unfamiliar corridor of the ship, Drumon showed me into his personal living quarters. What with their legendary reputation for being tireless killing machines, it had never really occurred to me that a space marine might need somewhere to sleep once in a while. But I was certainly grateful that he did, considering the bedroom's other convenient potential use, which he soon reminded me of with another tender touch of his lips against mine.

He removed his gauntlets in order to facilitate the process of undressing me, but aside from that and the helmet that was already off, he showed no intention of revealing the rest of what was hidden beneath his armour. I momentarily considered asking him to, but feared that it might be impolite—and the thought left my mind once he distracted me by slipping one warm and firm hand beneath my coat. Soon, I even found myself running my fingers along the metal of his breast plate as if it really was part of his body. For a space marine, maybe it practically is.

Another fleeting and somewhat foolish thought I had was some embarrassment at the prospect that, in his inhumanly large hands, some especially important parts of my own body might appear comically small. Fortunately, Drumon seemed unconcerned as he set about demonstrating some of the advantages that the size of his hands gave him, eclipsing the inconsequential worries in my mind once again.

Still, there was one more thing keeping me from fully losing myself to pleasure, as Drumon eventually noticed. Our natural heights were reversed, with me sitting on the edge of his bed and him kneeling in front of me on the floor, when he looked up and asked me if there was anything wrong.

" _ You're _ not doing anything wrong," I rushed to reassure him. "Really, I appreciate it. But . . . I suppose I can't get past some sense of guilt at the knowledge that this is almost entirely for my benefit. It makes me feel like I'm being terribly selfish." Such a concern might seem almost uncharacteristic to any readers who have followed enough of these memoirs to discover the truth about what an incurably selfish person I really am [3], but even I'm not immune to the occasional pressures of a conscience, which tend to affect me at the most inopportune times.

Drumon nodded, evidently unsurprised. "You needn't worry. I'm genuinely happy to do it. Although . . ." He paused a moment in what looked like serious thought. "There is something else we might try that could solve that problem, but I'm not sure if it would be to your taste. It's . . . something I've heard that most normal humans find a bit off-putting."

"What is it?"

Drumon lifted himself up from his knees and took a seat next to me on the bed, a contemplative frown on his face as he appeared to take some time to compose an explanation.

Finally, he began. "Are you aware of the additional organs that the Astartes receive from the gene-seed?"

"I've heard a bit about that, yes," I responded, doing my best to suspend judgment about whatever he was about to propose until I had all of the details.

"Among them is the Omophagea, which allows us to absorb information about others through consuming their blood or flesh."

My eyebrows involuntarily shot up.

"You're shocked," Drumon observed.

"Intrigued, rather. Go on."

"That ability would make it possible," he continued, "For me to share in your experience, to a certain extent."

"How would you do it?" I asked.

"I could bite you, if you don't object," he suggested. "I'd take care not to injure you too seriously, of course."

"It's not like any kind of mind-reading, is it?"

Drumon chuckled. "No, I wouldn't suddenly become privy to your deepest secrets." And thank the Emperor for that. "But for a moment, I would share in the same sensations that you feel. Which might make things a bit more even, if that would help you. Of course, if you'd rather not—"

"Oh, I'm all for it," I interjected. It would still be several years at that point before I discovered the full extent of my predilection for a certain brand of pain—I have Amberley to thank for that, of course. But I had already come to welcome and encourage some level of roughness in any overnight guests who were up to it. So while no one had yet done it hard enough to break the skin, it certainly wouldn't be the first time someone had bitten me in the throes of passion, and I was intrigued enough by the proposition to give anything a try. "Whenever you're ready."

Smiling, Drumon put an arm around me and drew our lips together again. He guided me into a position of sitting on his lap, which diminished the height gap again, and made me shiver with a brush of his fingers across my thigh. I grasped at his hair, kissing him with fervour and enthusiasm, and sighing when he moved his mouth to my neck. I was a little bit nervous about what he was about to do, but in a way, that anticipation also added to my excitement.

And it turned out to be a singular experience, to say the least. There was something initially strange and a bit uncomfortable about the way his teeth tore into my skin, but that sharp and shocking sensation soon combined with the more generally pleasant ones produced by his large and dexterous hands to form a new and overwhelming feeling I'd be hard-pressed to properly describe. And hearing a low and rumbling moan against my neck in that incredibly resonant voice of his, all while knowing that it meant he was sharing in the exact same feeling, was quite something—not to mention a bit of boyish giddiness I felt at the simple fact that I was doing all this with a frakking  _ space marine _ . All in all, I'd say I very much enjoyed it, and it was especially encouraging to be absolutely secure in the knowledge that he certainly did too.

Drumon was fastidious about tending to the wound on my neck afterward, making use of one of the emergency first aid kits that are always easy to find around a ship, and I reclined comfortably on the bed as he did it, enjoying the rare peace and quiet.

"I'm sorry," he said as he gently applied a bandage. "I hadn't thought about how visible this might be. You could get some uncomfortable questions."

"Don't worry. The collar of my uniform is more than high enough to hide it," I replied with a smile, having dealt with similar issues on a lesser scale in the past. It did occur to me that Mira was likely to notice it, but if it bothered her, it wasn't really any of her business anyway [4].

"You're all set, then."

I heard the click of him closing the first aid kit, and propped myself up on my elbow to make eye contact. "Do you mind if I stay here a while? It's nice to have a break from . . . all the liaising and whatnot."

If Drumon understood that I was really referring more to my relationship with Mira than to any of the requirements of my actual assignment, he didn't comment on it, only saying, "Stay as long as you like."

To my surprise, he then climbed into the bed next to me, and the cold metal of the arm he wrapped around my waist was just as comforting as any other I had known.

* * *

_ Inquisitor Vail's Footnotes _

_ [1] It's not that I necessarily disbelieved him entirely—just that I knew him well enough to habitually suspect him of a bit of embellishment. _

_ [2] I'll take that as a compliment. Also, his comment about the "top ten" appears to be merely figurative, as having been through many of his personal documents, I've yet to find an actual ranked list. _

_ [3] As often as he claims this to be true, having known him personally, I can at least attest that I would never have described him as such in the bedroom. _

_ [4] I suspect the lady in question would have felt differently, but this segment of the narrative ends without providing any closure about her reaction. Perhaps he successfully managed to pass it off as the result of a sparring accident. _


End file.
